


all you have is your fire

by disasterboy



Series: Stigmata [3]
Category: As It Is (Band), Point North (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, Ghosts, Reform School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 12:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disasterboy/pseuds/disasterboy
Summary: Being a ghost was a miserable existence for Ronnie Ish, especially when he was stuck in a place like St. Stephen’s Reformatory School for Boys.





	all you have is your fire

**Author's Note:**

> comin to u live from [REDACTED], it's cody with a ronnie-centric spin-off fic!!! the actual fic is still going on but i will be writing and updating this on the side as well :)

Being a ghost was a miserable existence for Ronnie Ish, especially when he was stuck in a place like St. Stephen’s Reformatory School for Boys. Even the name sent chills through him. It had been unpleasant living here when he was alive, but it was even worse when he had no means of leaving or even talking to the boys that walked past him every day.

At least he had his guitar. His electric guitar was the only escape for him; somehow it had crossed over into the afterlife with him, and he passed the time slowly honing his already-deadly shredding skills.

Now was one of those times. He had tried to contact some of the students of the school— with very little success, though one bearded senior did kind of hear him— and he wanted nothing more than to sit and play his guitar.

As soon as he perched himself on a wall and began playing, however, he felt something rush past him. Ronnie looked up to see a mass of darkness streak down the hallway.

It was that pesky demon again. It had been lurking in the shadowed portions of the school for years, and Ronnie had just about forgotten that it existed. Soon it was out of sight, although Ronnie could feel the sense of evil linger in the air long after it was gone.

Shaking his head, Ronnie turned back to his guitar. His hands fell into their natural positions, and he heard the sharp notes in his ears more than he felt his hands strumming the strings. It was a familiar tune, one that he hadn’t actually played in a while. Memories came rushing back to him; the hand of a vice principal, resting threateningly on the small of his back as he firmly led Ronnie towards the school; Jon and Timmy getting in trouble for starting a food fight during lunch; Brady’s wickedly sharp grin reflecting the weak sunlight as the two of them explored the school grounds; fire, surrounding him from every side as the walls collapsed in on him and his friends.

His fingers stilled on the strings. He looked up to realize that it was once again Monday and the first bell of the day had just rung.

The passage of time was another thing that Ronnie disliked about being a ghost. A whole week could come and go in the blink of an eye. It was vexing, to say the least, and because of this he had no idea how long he had been a ghost. It seemed like he had only died yesterday, but he knew that wasn’t the case. The school didn’t keep any memorabilia of past graduating classes, and they had no sports teams so there weren’t any championship banners anywhere that displayed the year, so to Ronnie (and probably every other ghost trapped in there) it all seemed like one never-ending time loop.

Ronnie sighed, turning back to his guitar. He returned to the melody he had been playing, and the familiar notes tugged at his very soul. He remembered playing this to his little sister right before the court hearing; he remembered her smile, her small hands trying to grab at the strings, and the overwhelming sadness he felt when he remembered that he wouldn’t see her again for a long time.

Back then, he had thought “a long time” had meant a few months, maybe even a year at most. Now he doesn’t know how long he’s gone without seeing her. He kept playing, feeling the song pull him back in time, back into his memories. He half hoped that when he opened his eyes he would be met with his old bedroom and his sister sitting in front of him, but he was greeted by the moss-covered wall overlooking the hallways.

Nothing was ever going to change unless he got help, and he knew that. He just didn’t know where to start.


End file.
